Page 20 of My Surprising Valentine

Wait, what?

“She did?” My mother and Rachel asked simultaneously with vastly different tones of voice.

“She did.” Max’s eyes stayed glued to mine, and there was something in them—some mix of mischief and warmth that had me holding my breath as I waited to hear what else he might say. “We were at David’s watching the Patriots lose again. The game was so boring that Hannah actually fell asleep on my shoulder despite her brother hollering at the television.”

“That never happened, and you know it!” I protested automatically. I had no idea where Max was going with this story, but I couldn’t let him besmirch my good name. As a dyed-in-the-wool Patriots fan, I wouldneverfall asleep during a game(except, of course, for that one time a month or so ago when I actually had fallen asleep during the third quarter after working a double shift).

His grin widened. “Anyway, when she woke up, she looked up at me and said …” He paused, his expression turning suddenly tender in a way that felt almost too real. “She said she’d dreamed that we were together, and maybe we should give it a shot.”

My mouth went dry. He was making all of this up, but something about the way he told the story felt so natural that, for a moment, I could almost believe it had happened exactly the way he described. The fact that he remembered my actual nap during that game—how I’d dozed off against his shoulder despite my brother screaming about the ref—made it worse somehow. Or better. I couldn’t decide which. He was weaving truth and fiction together so seamlessly that I found myself wondering if I’d really said something in my sleep that day. If maybe Ihaddreamed about us being together.

The scariest part was how right it felt, sitting here with his thumb tracing patterns on my knuckles while he spun our love story for my family. How easily I could picture it happening just the way he described—me, my sleepiness giving way to a level of honesty I’d never meant to reveal by finally admitting what I’d been feeling for years. Him, waiting all this time for me to be ready.

But this wasn’t real. No matter how much my heart raced when he looked at me like that, no matter how natural it felt to lean into his touch, this was all pretend. I had to remember that.

“And?” my mother prodded, practically bouncing on her toes.

Max’s hand found mine under the table, our fingers linking together. “And she was right.”

Rachel made a small sound of disgust and pushed back from the table. “I need another drink.”

I barely noticed her departure. I was too caught up in the way Max was looking at me, in how his hand felt wrapped around mine, in how easy it would be to believe this wasn’t all pretend.

What Ididnotice, however, was from the table behind us, Melody’s sister Sophia was whispering none-too-quietly to her husband, saying, “I always thought there was something between those two. Remember Uncle Tony’s birthday party and the way Max refused to leave her side?”

“You’d twisted your ankle,” Max murmured close to my ear, his breath stirring goosebumps along my skin. “I promised to keep you entertained while David chased after that redhead.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “Hardly a chore, especially when Katie kept bringing us champagne.” What I didn’t tell him was that a few days later, Katie had confessed she’d been hoping Max and I might find ourselves drunkenly falling into bed together. She’d been so disappointed when I told her he’d held my hair back while I puked my guts out instead.

He chuckled. “Thank god for Uber.”

“I couldn’t drink champagne for months afterward—and you know how much I love my bubbly.”

Before Max could respond,anotherof my aunts appeared at our table, fixing him with a stern look. “You better be serious about our Hannah, young man. Some of us have been waiting far too long for you to come to your senses,” she scolded beforeharrumphingand stalking off toward the cookie table on the other side of the room.

My smile felt brittle as I watched her go. Between my mother’s enthusiasm, Rachel’s hostility, and now my many aunts delivering dire warnings, the weight of our pretending was becoming unbearable.

Max must have read that in my expression because he squeezed my hand. “Hey,” he said softly, leaning close. “You’ve done your time. Want to get out of here?”

I nodded, not trusting my voice. He smoothly made our excuses—something about an early morning call with the hospital board—and guided me toward the exit, his hand steady against my back as my thoughts spiraled.

The elevator ride up to our suite was silent, charged with something I refused to give name to. Max seemed tense, his body still in a way that made my stomach twist. Was he regretting coming here with me? Had my family’s behavior toward our supposed relationship made him worry about how this would all play out? Max was like the second son my mother never had. What if this ruse, when it eventually ended, caused a rift that couldn’t be repaired?

When we reached our room, he waited until the door clicked shut behind us before running a hand through his hair and blowing out a long, slow breath. The mask he’d worn all night slipped from his face, and I realized he looked suddenly uncomfortable.

“Hey,” I ventured. “Are you okay?” Even as I asked, I was terrified he’d tell me that he wasn’t. That this had all been a horrible mistake.

He paced to the window and back, his erratic movements so different from his usual grace. He finally came to a stop and faced me, his hands splayed on his hips. “I just … that story I told downstairs?” He turned his face away, his jaw ticking.

“About me falling asleep on you?” I clarified, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What about it?”

He turned back to me, his expression more serious than I’d ever seen it. He blew out another breath before saying, “So I’ve been thinking …”

Chapter Nine

“So I’ve been thinking …”Max’s voice was low, almost hesitant—so different from his usual confidence.

My heart stopped, then started again double-time, each beat seeming to echo in my ears. There were a thousand ways that sentence could end, and most of them terrified me. My stomach knotted with anxiety as possibilities raced through my mind—he regretted coming, he couldn’t keep pretending, he’d realized what a mistake this all was.

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